


Under the Mountain Deep

by cadesama



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadesama/pseuds/cadesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU at the S1 finale. Mt Weather decides it has plenty of room for Sky People to bunk with them and takes all of the survivors from the dropship. Bellamy and Clarke try to navigate survival in the mountain and to discover what Cage and Tsing are up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Mountain Deep

**Author's Note:**

> For #3.
> 
> TY TO MY BETA FOR BRAINSTORMING AND GENERALLY HALPING ME WHEN I THOUGHT ALL MY IDEAS WERE CRAP. APOLOGIES IN ADVANCE TO MY RECIPIENT.

"The situation is progressing quickly, President Wallace," Emerson said.

He looked up briefly from the command room console, catching Wallace's eye. Wallace nodded to him, hand raised to gesture the man down when he attempted to rise and salute properly.

"None of that," Wallace murmured. He did appreciate the sentiment, of course, but this was not the time.

Cage cleared his throat by Wallace's side and leaned in, pointing to one of the radar monitors. A large group of their very own Reapers was coalescing in the valley near the Ark Station dropship. A worrisome development.

"What," he said urgently, tapping the screen, "is this?"

"A problem," Wallace said.

From what young Mr. Green had told him, his friends were not particularly versed in warfare. A three sided fight was not one that boded well for them. Though, Mr. Green had admitted, somewhat sheepishly, they weren't entirely innocent either. A quite interesting society, it seemed, had developed upon that ark – different in many ways from the society Wallace's on people had forged in the refuge Mt. Weather. And yet he did think there were many likeness.

Wallace turned to look at his son, the anger furrowing his brow.

Tenacity. That was what they preserved from their fore-bearers. The Grounders, too, it was true enough. They had tenacity in spades.

What Wallace hoped was that drive to scrabble out an existence, regardless of the cost, was tempered by an awareness of sacrifice. He did try and he believed Cage tried as well.

"Not necessarily," Emerson put in. Wallace turned his attention back to the man with a curious frown. He shifted back in his seat, knees splayed wide as he looked up to his President. "It's a tactic – and a good one. The Ark survivors don't have the resources to keep the fight going, not in man power or in weaponry."

"So we believe," Wallace said.

Their information was patchy at best. Beyond what Mr Green had told them, their own reconnaissance had returned only a clean route to the dropship and a few emplacements of monitoring devices. Certainly not a full accounting of their capabilities.

Emerson was not dissuaded.

"But those Reapers, they don't think. They don't know they're out numbered. They don't know who they're fighting for." He grinned and punched his hand into his palm. "It's good."

"Will it work?" Cage asked sharply.

Wallace dropped his hand onto his son's shoulder. He knew what Cage was truly asking: if they should lend their help to the Ark survivors.

The answer had been determined for them long ago.

"I know what you wish to do," he said. He met his son's gaze and held it, steady and calm. Cage's expression crumpled after a long moment and he looked away. Wallace squeezed his shoulder, shaking it lightly to comfort him. "I too wish that we could fight this battle for them. It simply is not possible."

The few trained guards who were equipped to venture outside were hardly enough to stem the tide of Grounders that beat against the Ark survivors' defenses, coming again in wave after wave. They had too few men, too few suits, too few guns. And even if they had more, what use were they, truly? When a single nick in their radiation suits would end their fight before it even began?

"We must wait."

Cage shook his head.

"We must wait for a miracle."

Wallace gave rueful chuckle. That had been precisely what he meant.

An alarm cut through the air, covering the sound of gunfire picked up from their dropship surveillance. Emerson swiveled his chair back to his station while Cage straightened, striding over to the station the alert was coming from. Wallace followed sedately.

It was the old air defense monitoring station. The young woman manning it looked up at him in shock. The video displayed on her console was clear enough, but she opened and closed her mouth twice, hushed by her inability to explain what she saw before her.

Finally, she managed, "It's the – it must be the Ark."

"It's come to Earth," Wallace said. He rubbed his hand over his chin and looked to Cage. "Perhaps this qualifies."

Cage actually smiled at him.

Unfortunately, pragmatism was still the order of the day.

"We will aid them when we can, I think. After the children are safe."

"Of course," Cage said. "But –"

"I know you are in a rush to meet our visitors, but there is little we can do. The team is prepped to retrieve the Ark survivors at the dropship. Once they return, they will have to recuperate before they can be deployed again."

Cage dipped his head. He heaved a sigh.

"You're right. I would have liked to bring them all into the Mountain, but …"

Wallace felt a prickle of guilt. The plan had not been to take in all of the Ark's children, though Cage had advocated for it. They would try to take as many as they could, acclimate them to the lifestyle, and then use them as a bridge to those remaining on the outside. With the Ark itself coming down, that seemed more necessary than ever.

Cage looked up, worry in his eyes.

"Even if they survive the descent, do you really think they'll be in any state to take care of the kids?" he asked.

That gave Wallace pause. He looked back to the air defense monitor. The Ark was a blaze in the night sky, debris from exploded modules around it like a deadly constellation.

"They may not be," he conceded.

"They definitely won't be of any help tonight, miraculous as this is."

"What do you want, Cage?" Wallace asked with a sigh. He wanted to make the boy say it aloud.

"All of them. We bring all of them into the Mountain – the children and, when we have the opportunity, their parents as well."

A smile tugged at the corner of Wallace's mouth as he nodded. There was a light in Cage's eye like he had just gotten away with something quite clever. It almost alleviated the worry Wallace felt, both at the burden the Mountain was taking on, and for the Ark survivors.

He would deal with that later.

If their erstwhile Sky People survived the night.

***

Clarke's cell was different here than on the Ark. Brighter.

She settled against the wall, arms around her knees. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the rotation of the Ark. It was with her – it was with all of them – every moment, even down on the ground. She'd gotten her Earth legs the same as every one else among the hundred, but in the little instants between fights, the scraps of time that could barely even be fitted together into moments let alone respites, sometimes she pretended.

She gave a soft, humorless laugh. She used to dream of Earth and now she grounded herself by imagining the Ark, the constant tug of the station as it spun, pulling her back down with every step.

But if she kept thinking that way, she knew, she'd leave herself vulnerable. Pressing her palms to her knees, she forced herself to reopen her eyes. There was art on her wall, familiar from history class, and a host of medical equipment. As good as anything they had on the Ark and in better condition.

Clarke tilted her head back against the wall, examining the camera above her.

They weren't afraid of her. They'd snatched her and God only knew how many more of her friends from the smoldering remains of the Grounder siege with ease. They didn't need to fear her or anyone else, and they didn't need to hide their intentions out of fear – which left callous indifference. They could monitor her and didn't care if she knew or not.

She frowned to herself. She didn't need them to care about her or what she knew, but she did need a way out, and that meant figuring out exactly what she was here for.

Clarke pushed herself back to her feet, looking around her cell once more for any tools, and then glancing out the circular window onto the hall. She stopped cold and stared, hands falling to her side.

Monty was gone. She walked forward slowly, eyes caught on the room across the hall. Monty was gone and another boy lay in his bed. Her brow furrowed. It took a long moment for his face to register.

Washed of blood and soil, clothed in the same white she wore, John Murphy sat on the bed in the room across the hall, one foot swinging idly over the edge of his bed. He cocked his head to the side as he gazed back at her and then wriggled his fingers in a mocking wave.

Clarke stepped back from the window, looking down as she considered her options.

"They don't know us," she said aloud, quietly.

They'd seen a little. Possibly made Monty talk. But they didn't know the first thing about her or what she'd been through to defend her people.

Time to change that.

She cast around her cell, looking for anything she could use to escape. They'd underestimated her – underestimated Murphy even more badly, given that he was unrestrained. The door was locked, she knew that much, but she didn't appear to merit security measures much more than the basic.

Her eyes fell on the IV drip she'd long torn out and the metal scaffold holding it up. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. That would do.

Rushing to the side of her bed, she hefted the drip tree and tossed the saline bag to the ground. She charged the door, smashing the metal through the small, circular porthole with satisfying strength. They'd fought a battle for their lives just days ago, but she'd never done more than lift a walkie to her mouth. Hadn't hit anyone. She'd given the order to burn the Grounders, but never fought for herself.

It felt good to break something.

The glass shattered and Clarke tossed the drip tree to the floor with a grunt. She reached her arm through the window, hissing as shards sliced through her skin. The blood coursed down her arm, slickening her grip. But the door knob was easy enough, the lock nothing more than a knob to turn.

Clarke pulled her arm back through the window, hand on the door knob as she eased the door open. She crouched behind it for cover, looking both ways down the hall, and then down at the mess she'd made. She carefully picked a piece of glass as her only defense before stepping around the shards. Clarke straightened and caught Murphy's eye.

He slid from his bed, stepping close to his door.

Clarke gave him a subtle shake of her head. She wasn't interested in breaking him out.

Murphy pulled a face, throwing hands up.

"Not happening," she told him. The doors were thick enough that she knew he wouldn't be able to hear her.

She looked down the hall, wishing she had any hint of which way to go. She could always lay in wait, she considered, until staff returned to attend to them. They were in a quarantine ward. That implied they'd be fed at some point.

"Hey!" Murphy shouted. His voice was barely audible.

Clarke restrained a sigh and looked over at him, eyebrows arched. He gave her a nasty, ironic smirk and pointed down the hall, forcing her to turn. She caught her breath and the glass nearly slipped from her grip. Guards in decontamination suits, half a dozen of them, walking toward her in even lines that filled the hall. The plastic coated material of their suits swished as they approached her, wary enough to let her get her bearings. She glanced behind her – she had no idea where it went, but at least there wasn't anyone that direction.

"You're welcome, princess!"

"Thanks, Murphy," Clarke grumbled.

She took off at a run.

The guards' heavy boots pounded the concrete floor behind her as she ran, guessing at the best way out of the facility. She couldn't even guess how far below the Earth's surface they actually were right now – there was a pull, a drag, a knot in her stomach that made her think she was far underground, but she knew it was just as likely to be in her head as actually be a sixth sense about gravity. The concrete above her, the pipes and lighting, simply felt oppressive, for all that they were otherwise familiar.

The Ark looked like this, she thought as she ran. Endless corridors and blank, functional walls.

Clarke turned a corner and, to her shock, found a bank of elevators. She punched the call button, breathing coming even faster. The guards were closing in on her, steps falling out of rhythm with each other as they tried to make up the distance, catch her before the elevator came.

"Come on," she whispered urgently.

She put her back to the elevator door, trusting it would open into a lift and not into nothingness, turning the shard of glass in her hand. The corner bit into the heel of her hand, but she didn't know how to relax her grip.

"No, shut all of them down," Clarke heard a guard snap. His voice bounced off the walls and she heard machinery stall behind her.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, spreading her feet as she readied herself for a fight. The guards ran around the corner, two of them in the lead and two behind, guns held in high cover as the last, the man with the walkie talkie, caught up. He cocked his head to the side, expression invisible under his decontamination mask.

"You're bleeding, Clarke," he said. He moved again and the glare on his visor reduced. She could see brown eyes under the mask. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Where's Monty? Where are my people?"

The guard took a cautious step closer, past the line of defense his cohorts made. One made to move forward with him and the guard held out one arm. He scrutinized Clarke for a long moment and then pulled off his decontamination mask.

"Sir!" one of the other guards gasped.

The man tilted his head, wry smile on his lips. There was a scar that extended up from his lip to his nose – corrective surgery for a birth defect, Clarke registered dimly. On the Ark, if the flaw was noticed in utero, doctors would have been questioned if it was worth the resources to fix. Grounders almost certainly would have left him in the woods to die, knowing he would never be a suitable warrior.

"It's fine, Jim," the man said. "She was ten minutes out from being cleared. She's no risk to us."

Clarke glared fiercely at him.

"Where are my people?"

"Upstairs."

Clarke stepped forward aggressively, pressing the point of her glass blade to his jugular. He swallowed deeply, adam's apple bobbing, but did not flinch.

"Take me to them."

"No." He raised his eyebrows at her and grasped her wrist. Clarke tried not to cry out, making only a breathy sound of pain as his thumb dug into her wound. He released her just as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, leaving her to hold her bloody arm against her chest, eyes wide and jaw clenched as she struggled to breathe through the pain. He continued calmly, "You're bleeding, Clarke. And my people, we don't like to get our floors dirty."

Clarke managed a rough chuckle; she wasn't sure it was a joke.

He half turned and signaled with two fingers to the other guards. Grudgingly, the dispersed, leaving him alone with Clarke. She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as she looked up at him.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now, we get you patched up. I think you'll be pleased, Clarke. You did your best to take care of your people and we've matched that."

She nodded stiffly. That remained to be seen, but there was no point to expressing her doubts now. There was a gun in the holster on his hip. She could feel her arm going nerveless and weak from the injury she'd inflicted on herself. Blood dripped down the length, spattering on her leg and on her bare toes.

He was a smart man. He probably realized the damage she'd done – the longer she spent talking, the worse off she'd be.

Clarke lifted her chin and met his eyes.

"So who are you?"

"We're Earth's children, Clarke, just as you are. The heirs of this world. But me, my name is Cage Wallace."

"And you're in charge here?"

It was a guess. He seemed to equate himself with her. He definitely gave orders to the others, hadn't introduced himself with rank.

He smiled, finding a humor she did not intend in her words.

"No, that's my father. Come. There's someone you'll be pleased to see."

He turned and retrieved his walkie talkie, speaking into it to order the elevators turned back on. Clarke stopped restraining the urge to roll her eyes. She couldn't think of a single soul she'd care to see, anyone she'd barter for her people's safety. Not even Finn.

***

Bellamy pushed away from the cold, concrete wall, arms crossed as he paced in between the survivors. They'd been gathered in the same hall the Mountain Men dined in – strewn with art and finery and unnecessary niceties they'd never even had even on the Ark – for what was more of a debriefing than a welcome. He wasn't in the first wave, he knew that much, nor the last. More of his people were in quarantine than out, with many still unaccounted for outside the walls of Mt Weather.

They wouldn't find Octavia, he knew that much. And even if they'd treated his own wounds, he couldn't say he was crying over that. Lincoln, at least, had earned his trust and Octavia was more than capable of taking care of herself these days.

If she'd survived the night.

"… you'll find a brief overview of tonight's menu at the back of your packet," Maya continued. Her hair was frizzy and her wide mouth pulled wide in a wary, slightly nervous smile. Bellamy saw his people shift as she laughed self consciously. "Not that – not that it's usually different. But maybe it's a little different from what you know?"

"I'm sure that it is," Bellamy said loudly.

Jasper turned to give him a look, eyebrows raised. He gestured toward Maya – a sort of 'don't ruin this for me, bro' thing that would have been better directed toward Monty.

Bellamy offered up a tight smile to their obvious minder, and continued, "We've been living on nuts in the woods. Anything we didn't have to cook or kill ourselves sounds just fine."

Maya seemed to relax, nodding to him.

"Besides, before the ground, it was always rations," Jasper added excitedly. He pulled a face of elaborate disgust and leaned in, hand to the side of his mouth as if in confidence, "It was not great."

Maya giggled in response. Monty sighed and backed away from Jasper's side, joining Bellamy at the back of the group. His departure drew several others away from Maya's briefing as well: Harper, Monroe, Miller, and Fox all casually stepped closer to Bellamy, ears turned to him without quite giving away what they were doing.

It was Monty who met Bellamy's eyes.

"Anyone else?" he asked.

Bellamy shook his head.

"I know," he exhaled harshly and then shook his head, forestalling anything the others might have said. "I know they're looking for more outside the dropship. I know there's another group in quarantine."

Monroe frowned, but it was Miller who spoke.

"Do you think they're really going to find everyone?"

"Maybe that wouldn't be so bad," Monty said with a shrug, before anyone even suggested it would be bad. He'd been there the longest, heard only stories of the Grounder assault on the dropship – seen his friends arrive bloody and injured.

"Maybe," Bellamy replied. His voice sounded rough in his own ears. Quarantine seemed like it had been days ago, but he'd only been out since the morning. Every moment since then had come to him through piercing awareness, too alert to stand down and too experienced on the ground to trust anything around him. Hell, wasn't like he'd trusted anything on the Ark. Never had cause to.

"Who else?" Monroe asked. "Who's next to get out?"

Their eyes were lit with hope. Bellamy raised a cautioning hand.

"Don't. We don't even know she survived, let alone if the Mountain Men found her."

Monty and Miller shared a look. It was obvious they were both deciding whether to argue – Bellamy was aware of the logic of it and sighed, conceding the point.

"We can ask."

If nothing else, the way the Mountain Men lied would tell them a lot to expect and what to plan for before they escaped.

Maya cleared her throat loudly and Bellamy turned. She looked irritated with him, but worried he would create a disturbance if she said anything about it. She shifted on her feet and, next to her, Jasper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Bellamy couldn't tell if he was embarrassed to be caught distracting her, or just embarrassed she'd stopped flirting with him and Bellamy now knew it. Not to mention Monty.

Bellamy smiled widely at Maya.

"You got one of those for me?" he asked, pointing to the information packet she had clutched to her chest.

She frowned and leaned sideways at the waist, pointedly looking around him at the table just to his back. Bellamy gave her a quick, self deprecating salute and walked over to peruse one. He flipped it open on the table and paged through until he found a map. Knuckles against the fine wood, he leaned forward, eyes scanning over the diagram.

Quarantine was clearly marked. The route from this dining room to the facility stood out in Bellamy's mind, but he knew memories could play tricks on people. It had seemed very far, endless gray walls, interrupted only by a handful of cautious people who barely had the courage to stare at the newcomers as they were ushered past for their orientation.

The path to what had been designated as their dormitory was also highlighted. Exits from Mt Weather itself were not.

Maya continued her explanation, voice pitched loud just in case anyone got ideas again.

"On the second page, you'll see a detailed explanation of emergency protocols," Maya was saying. Bellamy straightened, mouthing the words to himself. "And – and you should all learn it. We do. It's really important."

"Emergency?" Bellamy asked without turning. "Grounders?"

"Y-yes. And the radiation. I know you're all immune, but, well, we're not. And it'd be nice if you'd help us out when there's an emergency."

"You mean, don't get in the way?" Jasper asked. There was a dopey grin in his voice.

"Sounds easy enough," Monty said.

"Good," Maya said. Her nerves were fading. "We'll do drills. It's no problem, really. Hasn't happened in a long time. And you're all much safer in here than –"

She broke off as surprised murmurs rippled over the group.

Bellamy looked up, back tense as he craned his neck to see who had entered. He met Clarke's eyes before they skidded away from his, searching the group for exactly the one person Bellamy knew she wouldn't find. He waited for her to reached the same conclusion, watched as she steeled herself, expression flickering as she forced herself to set her worry aside.

"Glad you could make it, princess," Bellamy called to her. She actually smiled at the nickname, before the expression faded, seriousness of their situation reasserting itself.

She looked rougher than most of the rest of the survivors. No less clean and rested, but her natural wariness and sharp mind shadowed her eyes. A large bandage covered most of her left forearm and Bellamy had to wonder how recent that was. His stomach twisted as he cast his mind back to the siege, absolutely sure she hadn't gotten that wound in the battle. Besides, for all that they'd been captured in the aftermath of a battle, most of his people had healed up well.

Clarke gave him a nod and spared a glance toward Maya, who looked around anxiously at the disruption to her meeting, which Clarke failed to acknowledge. Wasn't her problem. She moved into the small cluster of their friends, greeting them in turn and hugging more than a few of them. She seemed particularly pleased to see Monty. Hell, Bellamy had been. So many soldiers down, it was good to see one who had made it after all.

After the group settled, Clarke stepped once more outside their circle, drawing herself up with all the dignity and seriousness that had made her so many people listen to her.

"I saw Raven," she said, eyebrows raised slightly at she smiled. "And she's going to walk again."

Harper started their group clapping and Jasper gave a whoop, hands cupped around his mouth. It died down quickly, eager as they were to hear more.

"I talked to one of their leaders, Cage Wallace. They're going to find everyone, give us all a home that's safe from the Grounders. For now... for now I think we let them."

"We don't mean you any harm," Maya insisted.

"I know," Clarke said. "And I'm grateful. We survived one night, but I honestly don't know we would have survived another. There's always another war."

A few of their kids – the warriors on the front lines – looked put out by Clarke's statement. Monroe pulled a face, even as she nodded. Even without another attack, Bellamy knew they would have faced a rough time ahead. Firing the dropship's rockets had destroyed what was left of their food stores, their camp, what they'd built since coming to Earth.

"Well, we're glad to have you. Glad to help," Maya said.

Clarke smiled at her, replying genuinely, "Thank you."

She allowed the briefing to resume, and Maya returned to the prepped speech she'd been trying to work her way through before both Bellamy and Clarke's interruptions, going back through things she'd already said.

Clarke made her way over to Bellamy, laying her hand on his forearm for a quick, reassuring squeeze. He stared for a moment at her hand. Some kind of idiocy made him want to reciprocate – grab her and hold her tight. He'd thought she was dead, stupid as that was. She was in the dropship and he was the one outside, but that made it all that much worse when he woke up in a white room and didn't know who the hell he'd even managed to save in the battle. Maybe no one.

"I talked to Cage, too," Bellamy said in a low voice. He crossed his arms and propped his hip on the table behind him, turning his eyes to Maya. "Didn't like him."

"I didn't say I like him."

"Didn't trust him."

Clarke sighed.

"Bellamy, it's me. I don't trust him either. But for now..."

"For now, what, Clarke?"

She gave a half shrug that he saw from the corner of his eye.

"We see how he lies to us. Figure it out from there."

Bellamy had to restrain a chuckle. She positioned herself on the table next to him, facing Maya and close enough that he could feel how warm she was. Alive and safe and, most importantly, still the same canny, cynical Clarke they needed. 

It was good to know they were on the same page.

***

Cage half turned as Dr Tsing came to stand next to him. There was a pleased smirk on her face, a clipboard in her hands. She looked up from it to survey the room full of eager young people, taking advantage of all Mt Weather had to offer. Primarily cake.

"Well, they certainly seem to have healthy appetites," she said.

The most recent group of Ark survivors had been released from quarantine, bringing their total population up to fifty five. There were more in quarantine and a small group they maintained communication with outside the mountain, having guided them there and promised them protection once they had available space. They were suspicious, that group, and felt abandoned by their own leaders – outside the camp walls when the rockets on the dropship fired, fighting tooth and nail against the Grounders and watching the remnants of the Ark itself streak the sky, they'd had no earthly idea what was going on. What was to come.

Cage hoped to bring them in later that day.

Most of the survivors kept to themselves, sitting at only one of the long tables in the room, but a few shyly introduced themselves to Mt Weather residents, eager eyes giving lie to their awkward and stooped postures.

"And how about the rest? Healthy?" Cage asked. His eyes followed two of the Ark survivors as they made the rounds, table to table, greeting people and allowing desserts to be pressed upon them. Clever.

"I can't speak to their mental states," Tsing said. She was perfectly aware that he didn't care, but idled on the words anyway. "And I must say what we saw of young Ms Griffin and Mr Murphy was not inspiring."

Cage nodded. Inspiring wasn't the word he would use. Interesting, perhaps. Useful.

There was the sound of rustling paper as she flipping through pages on her clipboard.

"However," she sounded quite satisfied as she continued, "they are in quite good health otherwise. Many of them could stand to gain a few pounds, but they are not undernourished. Their leadership did a good job on that."

"We could only hope we would do so well."

Tsing made a soft humming sound of agreement. It was not as if their own ancestors had not faced challenges, but it was quite different to adapt to the claustrophobia of a life underground as opposed to fending for themselves as hostiles and the environment with very little preparation. And as children, no less.

The Ark survivors were highly adaptable, Cage thought. His eyes roved over the group, settling on Clarke and Bellamy, seated together and yet subtly turned away from one another. Not out of any distaste for the others' company, he determined. They were watching the room. Constantly on guard.

A half smile raised the corner of his mouth.

That was quite familiar.

Humans were all adaptable. All of them. Ark and Grounder and Mountain Men, as he'd heard the children call them. But where they adapted to the threat of radiation, his own people had adapted to the threat of each other. It was all they could do in such a small space, with no hope to leave.

He wondered if the children had that in common with them. If the Ark had gone through that same winnowing process.

"The numbers are, honestly, phenomenal. I've never see anything like it and it's every single one of them, Cage."

Cage tilted his head as he watched Clarke take a tentative bite of her cake. Her eyes flew wide, suspicion vanishing for the moment, as a smile spread across her face. Bellamy said something to her and she immediately made a defensive move, pulling the cake to her and putting her hand down as a barrier.

"Do you think it's true for the adults as well?"

"Almost assuredly," Tsing replied immediately.

So far, the Ark crash site had generated little interest inside the mountain. Cage's father wanted to keep abreast of the situation, to welcome in those survivors as he had their children, once the moment was right. They were at capacity right now and would be for some time. Cage had seen his father pacing in his office, working on a speech for when he was ready to make first contact.

Cage found the merits of bothering somewhat dubious, personally. Maybe in time. At the moment, he did not want to deal with a group of weary and wounded spacefarers who very likely thought they should have a say in how things were run. Adults could be tedious that way.

The children, on the other hand, seemed far more pliable. Yet strong for all of that.

"They could prove to be a valuable resource," Tsing said. She glanced at him sidelong, voice in an undertone. "A far better one than our current supply."

She wasn't wrong, but Cage knew better than to push it. He ignored her implication.

"That supply is plentiful enough."

"Of course." She didn't bother to sound chastened. "But it could always be better."

Cage smiled. He had grander plans than that. If the numbers were really as incredible as Tsing said, they might not need a supply of radiation metabolizing proteins at all. What they might need was security on the ground, supremacy won not only through technology and culture, but strength.

"What do you think the adults are like?" he asked idly.

"Similar build, I would think. Probably a moderate bone density deficiency. I expect they compensate with supplements because I see no adaptive difference in the children. Their digestive tracts are almost certainly –"

Cage raised a hand, forefinger twitching up to stop her.

"Not … not what I meant." She frowned and dropped her clipboard to her side. He turned to face her fully. "I mean, what do you think their families are like. Their culture. What is it that made it possible for them to survive on Earth after a century in space, what strength of will do they teach their children?"

Tsing raised her eyebrows at him, expression sardonic.

"Their parents are the kind of people who lock up their kids for petty theft because they aren't old enough to throw out an airlock."

"And then crash their own home on to the ground because it is the only way to be with their children."

"A romantic way of putting it."

Cage shrugged. He couldn't help it. He liked the adults.

"We should contact them," he said.

Tsing gave a startled laugh.

"Contact the adults? Why? Why not just bring them in?"

There were a multitude of reasons, but it could be boiled down to just one: Cage didn't think they'd like him. Or anything he had in mind for their children.

"You're serious." Tsing looked him up and down. "Why talk to me instead of your father or Emerson?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Because I'd like you to come along. You are ground certified, aren't you?"

Tsing gave a suspicious nod. Cage turned back to watching the Ark survivors. Their parents had sacrificed much to be with their children again. It wouldn't end just with the crash. After they recovered, climbed out of their downed space station and looked around, the very next question would be where their children were. What had been done to them.

Cage merely intended to allay that fear.

***

They released Murphy before Raven.

Rationally, Clarke understood why. Murphy had been tortured by his Grounder captors – again, it seemed – but his wounds were superficial enough. Raven's prognosis had been much more worrisome. She'd asked Cage if she would be allowed to help in Raven's surgery and he'd put her off. They have stringent rules about qualifications, he told her. Clarke supposed her certifications had burned up on the Ark as it fell to Earth. If, of course, the medical experience of an ex-con counted for anything.

Murphy slouched into the dormitory, aware of the hostility around him. Maybe just days before he would have spread his hands wide, straightened his posture and lifted his chin as he invited their hatred. Here, now, he was all too aware that they would act on it. He had nothing at all of value to them. No information they could use.

They held themselves back for the little cameras in the corners. The Mountain Men knew they were delinquents, knew many of them had committed very serious crimes, but they were kind enough not to mention it. Their door had no lock on it. While Clarke was skeptical of Cage's motives, she saw how the small measures of trust affected her friends. They smiled more readily, shared more often. They wanted to deserve the benefit of the doubt extended to them.

Clarke doubted Murphy would feel the same.

Bellamy stopped Murphy part way into the room, standing in front of him with his arms crossed. He nodded toward a bottom bunk.

"That one's yours."

"Don't I get a choice?"

"No."

Miller, behind Bellamy, grimaced.

"Do I?" he asked.

Bellamy's tone was equally firm: "No."

It was a good choice, Clarke thought. Miller was honest and trustworthy. And while she wouldn't wish Murphy on anyone, they needed someone to watch him. She wasn't quite willing to admit to Cage how much she didn't want Murphy back among her people.

He didn't need to know there were rifts in their group.

The scene was very different only days later, when Raven was released.

President Wallace accompanied her, giving Clarke a first look at the man who ran the mountain, the man Cage so venerated. He seemed kind, she thought, pit in her stomach forming as he smiled and greeted each of her friends in turn. She wished she was a person who believed appearances, who didn't feel the hair on her neck prickle every time someone tried to gain her trust, but that ship had sailed as far as she was concerned.

Raven walked in behind him, gait steady despite the slowness. Clarke was quick to her side. She didn't offer any help – and raised her eyebrows at Raven's glare, telling her to put it away – but instead merely took stock of every diagnostic criteria she could. Raven's mouth was tight with concentration as she held herself upright, but the wan, sick undertone to her skin had disappeared. Pain no longer lined her face.

"You look good," Clarke said to her quietly.

"I always look good," Raven replied. She smiled after a beat. "I feel good. Thanks to them."

"Now, I won't have that. My doctors did perform surgery, but you fought for your life the entire way. All of you did. It has quite honestly been inspirational to our little community here," President Wallace said.

"But?" Bellamy asked leadingly. He stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a small pack of their own warriors. Clarke didn't know if Wallace would recognize them as such. Hoped he didn't.

"But nothing. You have inspired us – we hope to learn from you and you from us."

"That sounds like prelude to something," Clarke said. "What do you want us to learn?"

"Why, trades. Careers. I know that many of you, particularly you and young Raven there, have a number of skills already." He turned back to the group at large, inclining his head as he acknowledged their cautious murmurs. "And I know that you have richly earned a respite after all you've been through. But you also deserve a community and a home. Idleness does not lend itself to a rich life, which is precisely what I envision for all of you.

"Each and every one of you has fought hard for your life here on Earth. You know things about the surface we don't. In turn, we know things that you might never have been taught on the Ark – perhaps that your ancestors even forgot. I'm not asking you to pick a career today! But I'd like you to begin to think about what you would like to do with your life."

"In the mountain," Bellamy added unnecessarily.

"Exactly."

"And if we want to leave?" he asked.

Bellamy had that obstinate look on his face and Clarke knew precisely why. As many people as they brought in from the outside, there was virtually no chance Octavia would ever be among them. He'd told her about the battle, about Octavia's injury, and tasking Lincoln with finding a way to get her to safety.

Even in the few short days Clarke had been in the mountain, she'd realized one of the obvious facts of life: Mountain Men and Grounders didn't mix. Even if they had a lead on where Lincoln had taken Octavia, Clarke knew in her gut that was not situation President Wallace would throw his men into. Not for just one girl.

She did wonder if they would do it for just one boy. If Finn had been taken by the Grounders, if that was what she was leaving him to, or if he was just trying to survive in the forest.

Easier to think he was dead. She'd thought it during that long night in her white quarantine room, before she knew Bellamy lived. They'd been together at the end of the battle, so she'd assumed they shared a fate. Now she simply didn't know and it wasn't a topic worth thinking about.

She needed to be in the here and now for her people, to protect everyone who still lived. It would be easier with Bellamy at her side than – she halted the thought immediately. She wouldn't compare them. 

President Wallace smiled kindly at Bellamy and threw his arms wide, gesturing to the unseen surface above their new bunker home.

"You are free to go, of course. We will have to take precautionary measures. The radiation outside our home is quite deadly to those of us born within this mountain. In the meantime, I would ask that you please recuperate. Give us a chance to sell you on our community.

"I do think you'll agree. This can be home."

"President Wallace –" Clarke started, stepping forward.

He turned to meet her eyes and cut her off.

"Dante. Please."

Clarke managed to fake a quick smile for him, nodding.

"Dante. How would this work? I'd prefer that we stay together, but if we're to learn different skills … that just won't be possible. And how do you choose who does what?"

Career tracking started young on the Ark – everyone had to pull their weight. Clarke could remember accompanying her father to work, learning from him, before finally deciding machines just weren't for her, and apprenticing in the medical division instead. She couldn't have been more than ten when she did that, when she tugged on her dad's sleeve and frowned, unhappy to admit she didn't want to go to work with him anymore.

The Ark didn't have castes. Positions were not hereditary.

But Bellamy wasn't the only one who called her princess. It meant something different from them and she could only pretend it wasn't true.

"That is up to each of you." He turned back to the group, meeting eyes in turn. He was good, Clarke thought. Friendlier than Jaha, but with the same gravitas. "What I'm suggesting is a homestay. We honestly don't have the space to house all of you in dorms like this and I'd prefer not to keep you so segregated from life here. I'll ask my citizens in the next few days for volunteers and you can decide who you'd like to live with and what you'd like to learn."

Clarke looked to Bellamy. His eyes were hooded as he looked down to the concrete floor, listening and thinking. She was almost sure he was arriving at the same answer she was.

"Thank you," Clarke said sincerely. "I think we need to talk about all of this."

"Of course."

His eyes twinkled as he looked at her again, as he squeezed Raven's shoulder, before letting himself out.

Clarke sidled over to Bellamy, hoping to get in a quick word before everyone else descended on the two of them.

"What do you think?" she asked in a quiet undertone.

"I think it's obvious, don't you?"

She nodded.

"We do it," she said.

At the same time, he said, "We get out of here."

She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. 

Finn would have – she didn't know that, she told herself sternly. He might not have agreed, though she knew she could have plowed his opinion under. And regardless, it would have been a personal conflict. She wanted him on her side, but she needed Bellamy on her side. Presenting a unified front to their people was more important than hurt feelings or personal loyalties.

They both looked to the other in dismay in the split second before the others crowded around them. Raven had a speculative expression on her face, while Jasper already seemed to be planning to see if he could hit up Maya's family for career tips – even if, as Clarke knew, they had absolutely nothing to do with his talents. He wasn't much for medicine and she doubted he'd acquired the stomach for the sight of blood in the days since he'd been here. Bellamy's warriors seemed more skeptical. They didn't have a trade and didn't want one. And they certainly weren't going to put on guard uniforms less than a week out from fighting for their lives against the Grounders. They had an identity and it most certainly was not Mountain Man.

She'd need to find a way around that.

"Guess this is an easy out for you," Murphy said. He hadn't stood up at all during Raven's entrance or Dante's speech, instead laying fully clothed on his bunk. He looked up at the wire frame holding up the mattress above him, lacing his fingers under his head. "Don't have to put up with my face anymore when you can just foist me off on our gracious hosts."

"Not a chance," Bellamy snapped.

Monty frowned, giving him a look, while Miller seemed less than enthused to be giving up this opportunity.

"We're not 'foisting' anyone on anyone else," Clarke said loudly, clarifying for the group. She glanced over their faces, quelling their objections, and raised her eyebrows as she explained. "It's volunteer only. I am not splitting up the group more than necessary."

"Or at all," Bellamy said. His voice was low and tense. "We need to talk this over first. As a group."

Clarke restrained the urge to roll her eyes. He had never favored making their camp a democracy and only ever played the populist card when he thought he was going to win. But she could play that game too. Warm beds and a sense of home were just as attractive as staying together, particularly for kids who were little more than a band of orphans.

"Here?" Monroe asked. She'd moved from next to one of the bunks over to the door, back to it and face angled down. She knew where the cameras were. "That's what they expect."

Bellamy nodded, appreciative of her paranoia.

"Exactly."

Clarke pushed her fingers through her hair, blowing out an irritated breath. She got the point – she agreed with the point. They risked a lot by splitting the group up and risked even more by exposing anyone to the comfortable lifestyle the Mountain Men seemed to offer. She felt that same twist of longing everyone else did. Offering a home and a future was almost cruel, it was so tempting.

But if they were going to be smart about figuring out what Cage and Dante were up to, they had to play along. It was way too early to rebel.

She dropped her hands back to her sides and looked squarely at Bellamy, aware she was already committing herself to taking a side. She could see a plan developing, a way to keep them all safe, and it did not involve putting the matter to a vote. All or nothing.

And all on her.

Clarke squared her shoulders, feeling heartened by the idea. She wanted Bellamy on her side, so badly it almost made her feel sick, and that alone was enough to convince her that it was better this way. Her plan, her rules, and her responsibility.

"We need this, Bellamy."

"What do we need? We were doing just fine on the outside!"

"Were we?" Raven asked roughly. She had her arms crossed around her middle, hand pressed over the scar from Murphy's gunshot. Her jaw was set as she looked around the group. Murphy rolled onto his side to see what she was doing and then back onto his back, groaning dramatically at her display. Raven ignored him. "I remember us starving and fighting and bleeding, Bellamy."

"Fighting the Grounders," Bellamy said with emphasis.

"And each other," Clarke replied.

No one could deny it.

"Bellamy, it's not that I don't agree," she said. "But I think we should try to make this work. I want your help."

And she did. It wasn't even a lie. But it wasn't as co-leader. It was just as another soldier in the long game of their war.

Even a week ago he would have thrown his hands up, told her she was on her own. She wanted to lead the group off a cliff, she would be his guest. They were past that, at least. They shared the responsibility, knew they each had to support each other, even when they didn't want to. She felt a twist of guilt for abusing that accord.

Bellamy could read a room. Too many of the kids were interested. Wary, but interested. She didn't want them to dive in and double down just because they thought their places in the group were on the line somehow.

"Yeah? How princess?"

Clarke bit the insider of her cheek, drawing her mouth into a rueful moue before she spoke.

"I want you to do it. Be a Mountain Man."

***

Bellamy tugged his hat low over his face as he made his way through the halls. Emerson was his tutor – superior, the man liked to say. Somehow he'd managed to impress that on him in under a week. Maya and her father were his hosts. At least Jasper's expression had been worth going along with this.

Clarke had fully explained her reasoning when they'd had a chance, in hushed tones over cake and tea in the dining area. His eyes had been draw again and again to the paintings on the wall. He knew them from books and now saw them for real. Maybe that was why he'd believed her when she talked about the temptation of this place, how they needed to make it acceptable even while they were cautious. She didn't want turncoats any more than he did.

But it still smarted. Putting on a uniform and following orders, like nothing had changed. Having a man look at him with amused contempt, thinking about grinding him down under his boot, thinking about that with pleasure.

They could make it outside Mt Weather. They had before.

"And this," Emerson said. He rapped on a door and flashed his card quickly against the reader. The light turned red and the door gave under his push. "Is security control."

Bellamy raised his head and followed him in, stopped just on the threshold. He felt all the air leave his lungs, gaze raking over all the computer banks and monitors.

They were watching everything.

He felt a chill, just the same as he felt a renewed spark. His eyes settled on one of the monitors focusing on the forest. It showed movement and a thin line of smoke.

Bellamy straightened his posture, fighting back the desire to lean in, to study the picture and hunt for any detail that might lead him to Octavia. He didn't even know what he was seeing. Rocket fuel plus a highly combustible forest could well lead to embers and ash smoking for days if not weeks – for all he knew it was just a cam set on the dropship. They definitely had at least one.

He turned his eyes from that monitor, roving over the others. Areas of the mountain forest. A stream. And the dropship, clearing charred black, but no longer smoking.

"Grounders?" he asked as he stepped fully into the control center. He gestured casually to the screen, affecting a curious frown.

Emerson snorted and threw himself down into one of the chairs. He took off his hat, toying with the brim before tossing it onto the monitor console. He angled a look up at Bellamy.

"We keep an eye on them."

Bellamy nodded. If he had the tech, he would too.

"Where is it?" he asked. He pointed to the line of smoke, puzzling over the landscape. It looked nearer than Lincoln said his village actually was. Maybe closer even to the dropship than Mt Weather was.

"The Grounders' capital? Too far," Emerson replied. "We track their other settlements."

"Ton DC?"

Bellamy thought Lincoln had said that. If he was taking Octavia anywhere, it was there.

Emerson barked a harsh laugh.

"Sure, kid. I swear, I don't know what President Wallace is thinking. You kids are more Grounder than human. Washington, DC." He laughed again and slapped his knee, shaking his head. "It's a shock those savages read enough language to even get that much off the signs. Yeah, we watch that place. Track their movements from it to their capital."

He flipped a switch and an entirely new picture sprang up: a trail through the woods, little more than a beaten path, and what looked to be the outlines of huts hidden among the trees. Bellamy frowned deeply.

It was totally different from the picture before. The mountain was gone.

He quickly dismissed his thought about the previous picture, what that camera was trained on. A different village, probably.

This was Lincoln's village.

He risked a look at Emerson.

"You ever take anyone from there?"

Emerson pulled a face, all but snarling as he glared up at Bellamy.

"Where the hell did you –" He stood, chest to chest with Bellamy and just half an inch taller. He pushed Bellamy's shoulder and Bellamy knew well enough to stumble under the touch, let Emerson think he had the upper hand. "We don't take people. We rescued you and don't you forget it, you ungrateful Grounder brat."

Bellamy raised his eyes just long enough to meet Emerson's. On the next push he waited a moment before rolling with it, a deliberate signal that he knew his strength and his value. He also knew the battles to fight. He was just waiting.

Emerson didn't quite seem to get the point. He scoffed in disgust and turned away, hands on his hips as he looked to the far side of the room.

"I don't think you've got the right stuff," he said after a moment. "Go back to the dorm. I'll ask them to send me another."

The words were right on Bellamy's lips, the suggestion that he take Murphy on – he's a good kid. Hard, hard worker. You'll like him. But he could see trees rustling out of the corner of his eye and before he could stop himself, he turned to look, attention diverted as he tried to make out figures in the distant village.

He dragged his eyes back to Emerson and ducked his hand, shoving his hands down into his pockets.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "I want to learn. I want to do my part to help out."

"And to thank us. Right?"

Emerson was looming over him again, but Bellamy felt no anger.

"I want to thank you," Bellamy replied. He was even sincere.

The rest of his shift with Emerson passed uneventfully. An hour in the control room, learning basics of the computers and where at least some of the cameras were positioned. Emerson diffidently ignored certain questions, refused giving complete answers. Laughed aloud when Bellamy seemed altogether too interested. But he watched him speculatively and didn't seem too interested in sending him away or making Bellamy his bitch, so that was a plus.

The afternoon was dedicated to walking the halls of the Mountain. Emerson wasn't even trying to teach him how to get around, enjoying it far too much when Bellamy got turned around. It was easy to pretend to get lost, that he wasn't noting every joint and turn, every elevators and emergency quarantine gate.

Felt a bit like home, honestly.

Emerson dropped him off in front of the dining hall, under the assumption Bellamy wouldn't be able to find it himself, sauntering off with his thumbs tucked into his pockets. He turned the corner, sidling around Cage and Clarke as he did so.

"Bellamy!" Monty called.

Bellamy readjusted his hat and shot Monty a quelling look across the dining hall. Monty pulled a baffled expression, gesturing down at the cake laden table, and Bellamy gave him a quick shake of the head. Miller reached up and balled his fist in Monty's shirt to haul him back into his seat. He met Bellamy's eyes and nodded silently. Monroe and Fox frowned in his direction, but also knew well enough to let him do his recon: they too had been placed in home stays.

Clarke had been busy breaking up Bellamy's staunchest allies, sending them away. As it turned out, volunteering was what she said in Dante's earshot and had nothing at all to do with her plans. She'd allowed everyone to refuse their assignments, but assignments they were.

As much as it annoyed Bellamy, though, he hadn't been suspicious. He crept quietly down the hall, angling himself to listen in on Cage and Clarke. He pulled out the small notepad he'd been issued for his training, pretending to flip through.

"… doing well," Clarke acknowledged.

"Good. I admit I didn't know who Raven was to your group when we first came across her on the dropship floor, but the thought of losing someone who has gone through so much just to join us here on Earth – it's unthinkable."

Clarke didn't respond to that. Bellamy could almost see her expression, tired and slightly pinched. Raven was great. They needed Raven. But everyone had been through hell and losing anyone was unforgivable.

"I can think it," Clarke said eventually. "I've lost enough people to know what it's like. No one is expendable, Cage."

Bellamy stared down at the squiggled lined of his notes, wondering if she meant Wells or Finn. The dead buried at the dropship camp, or the ones who never got graves because Mt Weather swooped in before anyone had the chance to dig. Or the kids whose names Bellamy hadn't learned, dead on the dropship before they even landed.

"Everyone has value. You know I believe that. Everyone has worth."

There was something about the way he said that. Bellamy felt his stomach turn over.

"So, come on, who else can you give me?" Cage asked. His voice was casual, almost teasing.

"Monty," Clarke said swiftly. "He's good with computers."

"That's not happening."

Bellamy relaxed marginally. If Cage thought it was a ploy, then it almost certainly was. But it also meant that there was little chance he'd get access to the computers either, unless Emerson was slow on the uptake about what his boss wanted out of this little work-study venture.

"Miller, then."

"Harper," Cage countered.

Bellamy didn't hear a response. She must have nodded.

"What job?"

"Oh, I'll find something, I'm sure. Don't worry about that part. Just keep everyone calm and ready to work."

Bellamy heard footsteps and chanced a glance up. Clarke had her arms tucked around her middle, frown on her face. She jolted, surprise washing over her features, when she turned enough to spot him watching her. Guilt followed swiftly and then a flash of anger.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, stalking over to Bellamy. She took him by the elbow and he shook off immediately.

"What do you think you're doing, Princess?" he replied. "Bartering our people away? Getting anything good out of it?"

Clarke's mouth pursed.

"We're getting a future, Bellamy. Isn't that good enough?"

His chest felt tight looking down at her. He wanted something better than that, some kind of excuse for why she'd whisper in the hall with a man she said she didn't trust.

Bellamy gave a soft, rueful chuckle, eyes directed to the ceiling. It was about as effective as looking at Clarke, for all she gave away these days.

"I thought you'd do better than that, Clarke. Trade us for something we can actually use."

***

Dr. Tsing smiled privately as the Chancellor entered the area of the wreckage her hosts had so gracious cordoned off for her. There was a thick pane of glass in front of her, held fast with even thicker slabs of metal. She could hear the air cycling, scrubbing out particulates that would kill her cold. The noise was subtle, yet she'd know it as she knew her own heartbeat. It was the technology that had fostered her people for nearly a century now.

And while it protected them, it safeguarded people on the Ark as well. Of course, their airlocks had not been intended as quarantine zones. It wasn't the radiation of Earth – or even of space, so much greater there – that it kept out. It kept their live giving oxygen in while allowing them the opportunity to self-sustain as they repaired and improved their space station home.

"You're looking well," Tsing told the other woman.

Abby crossed her arms and looked to one of her guards, fingers tapping her arm to wave him back. He stepped back a pace, keeping his weapon at a resting ready position.

"Thank you," Abby said. She nodded toward the accommodations. "Sorry about keeping you. We been having a little bit of a … shake up, around here."

Tsing had overheard that much. Their monitoring devices had made it clear that the situation at the crashed Ark was incendiary. Finding the abandoned and burned out husk of the dropship, as well as all the Grounder skeletons, had sent shockwaves of grief through their group. They didn't know if their children had survived or burned to ash like so many others. They had no explanation for what they found, no new questions they could even ask. Perhaps unsurprisingly, division rent the camp – the parents of dropship children versus everyone else.

It was somewhat surprising that Abby had ended up on top. Although, then again, perhaps not. Tsing could already see she was quite formidable. And hopefully as amenable to deals as her daughter.

Tsing had risked quite a bit inserted herself into this situation right as tensions boiled over, but she deemed it even more dangerous if she waited. As she told Cage, she didn't want them to have the chance to think. And no one at all in Mt Weather wanted them to come looking. So, coup or no, she set out to find the Ark crash and cut a deal.

After a fashion.

"I understand. And it have given me some time to examine your facilities. I think there is much we might be able to offer one another," Tsing said, gesturing to the small airlock that had served as her quarters of the past few days. Her exposure suit was in the corner, whole and unblemished, and her air tank still registered as mostly full.

"That's good to hear," Abby returned. "Exactly what is it you're proposing?"

Tsing had filled her in on many of the basics of Mt Weather – telling the story of their survival, distinguishing her people from the Grounders. They had far more in common with the Ark survivors, though she did admit to the fatal weakness of her kind toward radiation. The technology they had in Mt Weather might well prove useful to those living in what was now apparently dubbed Camp Jaha. And in turn, those living in the Camp might also prove useful back at the Mountain.

Tsing and Cage had discussed numerous possibilities. First she needed to see if the adults were as pliable as the children. And if things went as she suspected they would, there would be recourse. She'd not been fool enough to come alone.

"Talks, to start," Tsing said cagily. "We have much to learn from each other."

"So you aren't proposing an alliance?"

"Ah. I see you have already met the other … locals."

Abby raised an eyebrow at her.

"You could say that. Some of our own scouted the landing site before we decided to bring the Ark down." Tsing restrained her response; that was certainly one was of looking at what they'd done to the children. "They reported back a hostile society. I presume you have found them no friendlier?"

"We have a history with them," Tsing acknowledged.

Abby nodded and a conflicted look came over her. She stepped forward, close enough to the glass of the airlock door that she could reach out and touch it – or the controls, if she were so inclined. Tsing bit her lip in a moment of anxiety before forcibly calming herself. She pressed her flat palms to the sides of her legs and cocked her head, meeting Abby's gaze curiously.

"We will gladly offer help," she said. "I just think neither of our groups should jump into anything unprepared. At minimum, we need to know each others' capabilities."

And vulnerabilities, she did not say. Her own were apparent and it was a necessary evil to cede that information.

"It's not that. The scouts … they were children. Teenagers, but – anyway, we don't know what happened to them. You must have seen something. Do you know anything about the dropship?"

Tsing and Cage had discussed what she would say many times, laying out all the plausible choices. They decided that a version of the truth was called for, but only that.

"We found their ship after a battle with the Grounders." She shook her head. "There must have been so many casualties. It looks like they set off the rocket boosters during the fight. It tripped our own monitors, leading us to them, but I'm afraid we were too late."

Abby swallowed, corners of her mouth twitching into a hard frown.

"That's how we found the area too. We had their coordinates, but the smoke in the sky led us to them. We saw footprints leading out from the camp, but never managed to trace them to a destination." She shifted on her feet and suddenly Tsing did not like the look in her eyes. "But we did find one survivor who could tell us some of what happened."

Tsing wondered which of the unaccounted for teens it was. There were only two that she knew were likely to have survived the night, yet had not been picked up by any of their teams. Either would be a valuable asset, should either Clarke or Bellamy suddenly prove less amenable to Cage's plans.

With some dramatic flare, the door to the room was flung back open and a boy stepped through, flanked on either side by guards. One wore a name patch of Miller, which Tsing recalled matched the surname of one of the kids. He had vested interest in the boy's story, then, as much as Abby did. Perhaps no real sign of hostility that he would accompany Finn.

"That could be valuable information," Tsing said carefully. She would not accuse Abby of herself accusing Tsing with the boy's presence. She didn't know what information he had. If it was a ploy to get her to tip her hand, she refused to play. "I thank you for sharing it. The Grounders are, unfortunately, our enemies as well."

"Like we are?" Finn asked. His voice was rough and his eyes red rimmed where they peered up through his long fringe. He did not look entirely stable. Without his friends, he appeared lost, and it was clear that the adults were no substitute.

Tsing tilted her head to the side, considering how to answer.

"I know you took them! I know you took Clarke!" he shouted suddenly.

Well, that certainly solved one question. She wouldn't need to be subtle, after all.

Tsing dipped her hand into her pocket, depressing a button on a small transmitter.

"You aren't surprised," Abby said quietly. There was dark anger on her face. "Why is that?"

Tsing gestured to the airlock, expression mild.

"I have no illusions of the fact that this is a prison as much as it is my only lifeline, Abby. I risked a lot coming here. That's suspicious. I understand why you'd think I had something to do with the disappearance around the dropship."

"You left tracks!"

"Of course we did," Tsing explained patiently. "We investigated when we saw the fires."

"Did you see anyone in a decontamination suit there, Finn?" Abby asked without looking away from Tsing.

Finn pulled a face, spinning on his heel to stalk out of the room, hands thrown up in the air. His guards exchange a look over Abby's head. Miller broke off to chase after the boy.

"He may have," Tsing said. "We did go to the site."

Abby just shook her head. She pressed one hand to her forehead, fatigue obvious.

"He doesn't know what he saw. He's been through a lot, between the Grounders and how things shook out with Marcus –" Tsing took that to mean the boy chose the wrong side in their political conflict, at least initially. "but that is beside the point."

"You want me to help you find the kids," Tsing concluded.

"They're alive, Doctor. I know they are. Clarke wouldn't just give up and die and there is no way they could have killed her, short of that."

Tsing depressed the transmitter button again. Perhaps extraction wouldn't be necessary. Perhaps she could lead Abby where ever she wanted her to go.

"And if the Grounders have them," Abby said, voice saying despite her fierce expression, "then we'll need your help getting them back."

Tsing smiled faintly.

"I think we can help you there," she said.

It would certainly be the easiest solution. Set the Ark survivors against the Grounders and harvest whoever was left standing at the end. Meanwhile, the kids would stay safely in the Mountain while she and Cage prepped their experiments.

***

Clarke smoothed her hands over the bed and lifted it at the corner to finish tucking the sheet in. She straightened and looked around the room, wondering what else was even left to do. The patrols came back in periodically, put into quarantine and treated for the inevitable radiation exposure, but there were fewer and fewer since the last of her people had been found. She swallowed past a lump in her throat at the thought. She always thought she had grown accustomed to it, had managed to work past Finn's absence and her own sense of failure, but every reminder seemed to cut anew.

At least it was some kind of closure, she reminded herself. The first days in Mt Weather had been filled with uncertainty. She didn't know how many survivors the Mountain Men would find. Now she finally had the answer in the silence, the diminished patrols and the way life seemed to have settled back into something of normalcy. They'd moved on – Mountain Men and her own delinquent friends as they integrated into life in the mountain, at her own urging.

"Boring, isn't it?" Maya asked.

Clarke turned and found the other girl in the doorway, shifting nervously on her feet despite the smile on her face.

"I bet you thought you'd be learning real medicine."

"There's time for that," Clarke demurred. She had hoped. She wanted to know more about the radiation treatments and the differences between the Mountain Men and Ark survivors. If they were going to live here, it was too important. She wouldn't be as ignorant about them as she was the Grounders. "But it's honestly a nice break. I've had to do too much 'real medicine' lately. Not fun."

She ended on a bright smile for Maya who was quick to nod in agreement. She'd heard enough about their time in the dropship camp from Jasper to get the gist of just how much field surgery Clarke had had to conduct by herself.

"So, um, if you're finished, we actually have someone coming in. I asked Cage and he said it would be alright if you observed."

Clarke exhaled carefully. This was exactly the kind of opportunity she'd been waiting for.

"I don't know. I have a lot of other rooms …"

"Someone else can get those. You're way overqualified for this kind of work. We need good doctors, Clarke. And –" She bit her lip and looked down before seeming to make a decision. She looked a little bit sad when she looked back up. "And you'll probably need to know how to do this."

"Then lead the way," Clarke said.

Maya hesitated only briefly before gesturing awkwardly down the corridor. Clarke followed her out of the room to another, very similar room. Medical personnel flitted in and out of the room. They looked up at Maya and Clarke's approach, irritated, before going back to their tasks – they clearly felt harried by the number of people around them. Not only Maya and Clarke, but President Wallace as well.

"I'm so glad you could join us, Clarke," he said, inclining his head to her as she walked closer. His hand was light on her shoulder as he guided her into the room. A doctor stopped and waited for them to get out of the way, huffing out a breath, before continuing with her preparations. Maya stepped over double time to avoid her. "This is a very important procedure, I think you will see. It will help you to understand more about our life here – and perhaps how you can help."

One of the guards lay on the bare, white gurney. He didn't look ill or otherwise harmed. Clarke was aware that guards returning from patrols outside had to go through decon and tests, often with radiation treatment afterward. It was all actually routine, even though they isolated it away from the rest of the population in the quarantine wing. Up until recently, they hadn't had any other use for the quarantine rooms, after all.

Clarke and Wallace stood near the wall while Maya took up her role aiding the doctors. She looked over her shoulder uncertainly and Wallace nodded to her.

"We can't metabolize the radiation on the ground," Maya started. Her voice was soft, slightly mumbly, but picking up as she went through the rote speech. "Even with our suits and our own air supply, too much gets in. Even down here, where we're safe, we need a treatment routine to sustain ourselves."

"It was a decision our ancestors made – perhaps not one for the best. Had they allowed nature to run its course, we would have adapted to the radiation as yours did," Wallace added, voice mildly chagrined.

Clarke nodded, brow furrowed as she watched to procedure. It was straight forward enough. As simple as setting up an IV and switching on a machine. 

"Dialysis?" Clarke asked. Her eyes followed the plastic tubing from the guard's arm and to the machine pumping blood. She'd never heard of a machine that could clean radiation out of blood.

"Of a sort," Wallace agreed. She looked to him sharply and he smiled at her, expression tinged with regret. "We cannot metabolize the radiation as you and you friends can. We are very hopeful that you may be able to aid us."

The doctor waved Maya off from where she was ministering to the guard, mopping his brow and talking to him softly so his gaze would not drift over to the monitors registering data about his treatment. Clarke felt a cold, hard lump form in her stomach as she watched the numbers rapidly tick up. They were flushing out the bad blood, pumping in good, and using far too much blood to do it. They'd never have allowed this on the Ark.

"You want us to donate blood," Clarke concluded.

"It's part of living here, Clarke," Maya said. "We all need treatments and –"

Wallace held up one hand.

"That is enough, Maya." She bit her lip and looked down. Somehow Clarke didn't feel like Maya had been angling for a guilt trip. More an apology, an explanation for something she didn't like living with. It did nothing to subdue the ominous prickle of fear raising hair on the back of Clarke's neck. "What we hope for if a better solution. Perhaps a serum derived from your blood that we can manufacture for everyone in the Mountain. A way to give my people a better future, Clarke, that's all I'm hoping for. Nothing more.

"You have the right to say no."

Clarke met his eyes, wishing she could smile long enough to hide how sick she felt and managed only a solemn nod.

"I understand," she said, stridently as she could.

If not for the cameras in the hall, she would have run from the room when the procedure was over. She shook Maya off when the other girl tried to guide her back to her home, felt her press a hand to her back as if to steady her and then leave Clarke, arms braced against a gray stone wall, gulping down air as she tried not to throw up.

It's no worse than the Ark, Clarke told herself. It's only blood. At least they asked first.

"Morning sickness, princess?" Murphy asked.

Clarke jerked and looked over at him. He had a faintly bored look on his face that was belied by the fact that he'd bothered to even stop to talk to her. She frowned, pinning him with a look.

"What do you know about the Mountain Men?"

He snorted, taken aback by the question. 

"Well, for one," he threw his arms wide, as if for a grand embrace, and smiled snidely, "they're dumb enough to take us in."

"You were taken by the Grounders, Murphy. Did they say anything about the Mountain Men to you," she pressed.

"I – no. Not really. Don't speak Grounder."

That wasn't an actual no.

Murphy looked uncomfortable, glancing away. When he looked back, his expression was fierce and angry.

"They asked if I was one of them," he snapped. He held up his hand where the nailbed were still scabbed over. "Before they pulled out my fingernails. Didn't really believe me when I said no."

"So they're afraid of them," Clarke said softly.

"The Grounders?"

Clarke pressed her lips together.

"Afraid of the Mountain Men?" Murphy asked in disbelief.

"It's simple math, Murphy. Everyone in the Mountain gets treatment for radiation poisoning because they can't metabolize it. Even their suits don't protect them. They're just too vulnerable to it. And if it gets into the suits, it gets down here.

"So where do they get clean blood?"

***

"Feet off the console," Emerson said.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and slowly righted himself, sitting up at full attention just in time to watch Emerson drop into a chair, propping his own feet on the control board. Bellamy rolled his eyes and put his feet back up.

The monitors had not shown a single Grounder in the weeks he'd been at this post. Patrols went out and came back, looking for more survivors, but returned empty handed. Bellamy didn't expect them to sweep Octavia up – she was far too good at hiding – but thought they could at least find someone who knew where she was. If there was anyone else left out there.

At this point, it meant the unaccounted for were dead.

"Shouldn't you be training me?" Bellamy asked as he pushed away the thought.

"I'm training you to know your place," Emerson replied. The look he shot Bellamy was vicious. "Feet off the console."

Bellamy obeyed without another word. The conflict wasn't worth it. He was precisely where he wanted to be; he just knew better to let on than he'd rather been in the control room watching vidstreams from cameras on the surface than out at the gun range or even learning to drive one of the trucks they used to haul materials along the length of the dam. Raven seemed more enthusiastic about her job in the power plant once she learned driving was one of the perks, but it was another thing solidifying their connection to this place.

Maybe Clarke and the others wanted to stay, but Bellamy already knew where he belonged and what he was supposed to do with his life. Playing nice in the Mountain was only necessary until he could get out and find Octavia.

"How often do you go out?" Bellamy asked idly, after a long silence.

His eyes were on the center screen, which cycled between the corridors inside the Mountain and the outer hatch. The field above had flowers that blew in the wind. Bellamy wondered at the people down here, watching nature all their lives without a single chance to experience. Seemed worse than the Ark, in some ways. He'd had his books and they had so many old vids of Earth, but that wasn't the same as peering out a window and knowing you could never step outside.

"Patrols are weekly. Assignments are on rotation. Once a month, give or take."

Bellamy nodded. They'd obviously ramped up the patrols to try to search out more of his people, but that matched up with what he'd seen since they settled down.

"You're not going," Emerson added. "I don't care if President Wallace is showing that girl of yours every damn secret we have, or if Cage plays footsie with her at dinner, but you are not going on Grounder patrol with us."

Bellamy felt a burst of fury, accompanied by a tight twist of pain in his chest. This son of a bitch was talking about Clarke and the worst part was he was saying things Bellamy had thought. She was too close to Cage, too trusting. He didn't know what the hell game she was playing or why she had suddenly cut him out of the leadership decisions for their people, but all he'd been left with was a dumb hat and a part to play, with no in to figure out what Clarke was thinking.

Sometimes he thought it was due punishment for failing every kid back at the dropship, burned alive or left in a shallow, hasty grave. And the rest of the time he was just pissed.

He moved his head to the side, switching from the center screen to one on the far right – just close enough to Emerson's scowling face that he could see the man without making eye contact with him.

"We've got a lot of girls, if you hadn't noticed."

Emerson scoffed.

"Only one that cozy with the brass. But tell yourself I mean Fox if that makes it easier for you to sleep."

Bellamy exhaled harshly, ignoring the comment. He didn't like men like Emerson taking note of names of his people, marking them out. This was exactly what was wrong with Clarke's entire plan. If it even was a plan.

"What do you do on Grounder patrol?" he asked instead, through clenched teeth.

"Keep them in line. So they know their place."

Bellamy didn't think he was likely to get a better answer than that and let silence fall over the two of them again. Talk from Emerson was cheap anyway, and rarely informative. Whatever Emerson meant by that, it hadn't shown up on the monitors even once. The cameras were positioned to help keep track of their own patrols just as much as to keep an eye on the areas they didn't send patrols to. The camera outside Ton DC never showed a Mountain patrol, for all that they were supposedly menacing the Grounders.

But that thought didn't assuage the sudden prickle of fear Bellamy felt, thinking of Emerson's idea of educating Grounders and Octavia out there, somewhere with Lincoln. He turned his gaze back to the far left hand monitor, to Ton DC, only to find the image completely changed.

"Where the hell is that?" he blurted out. He was on his feet, staring at what was obviously wreckage and just as obviously a fence.

The Ark fell from the sky, he remembered, the same night they lit the rockets and burned a Grounder army alive. It'd never been meant to land on Earth – hell, that was why he'd been raised in space to begin with. There was no way down. Bringing the Ark to Earth was a death sentence, a crash and nothing more.

It certainly looked like a crash site, he thought, eyes flicking back and forth over the monitor image, trying to take in every detail, figure out which station they'd brought down as their life boat. 

Squinting, he could make out men and women in the frame, hard at work on their exterior defenses. Almost looked like the dropship. He felt a faint burst of pride. His fence had been a hell of a lot better.

The image abruptly fuzzed out and Bellamy swung around, fist balled at his side.

"Nothing," Emerson said. His face was hard and angular in the light of them monitor, eyes flinty. His hand rested on the gun at his hip. "That's nothing."

Bellamy deliberately flattened out his hand.

"You're right. Sir."

The rest of the shift was a mix boredom and snide comments all but drowned out by the fast, loud thump of Bellamy's own pulse. He forced his attention away from the screens, asking instead to do a hall sweep with Emerson. They had to wait to be relieved from the control room and Emerson watched him with suspicion for the next hour before being reassured that Bellamy himself "knew his place."

There was satisfaction in his eyes when he let Bellamy off the hook, waving him to go back to the dorms early. Bellamy managed a brief, not entirely sarcastic smile for him.

He had just barely made it around the corner before he turned and punched the wall.

Cage and Wallace swore up and down they were looking for survivors. Like hell that didn't include the Ark. Like hell those cameras were a coincidence and like hell they ever planned to tell him or Clarke.

Unless they already had.

Bellamy stared at the wall in front of him, scraped knuckles throbbing. He rubbed at his hand, thumb working between the bones, pushing hard into the calloused flesh of his palm.

When he looked up, he realized that he'd attracted a small crowd: Miller, Monty, and Harper stood off to the side in the hallway, watching him warily.

"You okay?" Monty asked.

"I –" Bellamy broke off and smiled unpleasantly at them. He wasn't going to bother lying. "You seen Clarke?"

Miller and Harper shared a look before cautiously pointing down the hall, toward the dining hall. Monty simply frowned in concern, opening his mouth to ask again what was wrong.

"Thanks," Bellamy said gruffly before stalking off.

She was tapping her fork on the edge of her plate, cake untouched, when he found her and jerked violently when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she hissed.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low and rough. He bent down to speak into her ear. "Now."

Clarke slid her fork onto the table, just under the rim of her plate and rose smoothly to stand next to him. She caught his eye for a quick moment, frown creasing her brow, before she looked away, following him out of the dining hall silently. A few of their own turned to watch them go, but the murmurs were curious rather than suspicious. Raven was only briefly distracted from her conversation with Harper, which Bellamy found heartening.

They didn't need to draw more attention now, not when it was so dangerous. Not when he hadn't even begun to plan what the hell to do.

Bellamy led Clarke into one of the more deserted halls, familiar from his own patrols. It had a blind corner that just so happened to open up into a utility space. From the little he'd gleaned from Jasper, it qualified as the Mountain's hottest make out spot -- not that he knew that from Maya or anything.

He took care to check their surroundings before rapping on the utility closet door.

"Open up," he snapped. "Security check."

No response came from inside. Clarke's eyebrows were raised in amusement when he glanced back at her.

"Come on," he told up, gesturing jerkily into the closet.

Maybe half a year ago she would have questioned his motives, taking her alone to a secret make out spot. Now she merely turned on one heel once he closed the door behind them. The space was dimly lit, light coming in only through the crack between the door and the frame falling across her face in a thin line.

Her eyes were grim, mouth twisted in a grimace and for all that she was beautiful, for all that he sympathized, the expression did nothing so much as spark anger in Bellamy.

"What the hell have you gotten us into, Clarke?"

"Nothing good," she replied. Bellamy hated that she wasn't fighting back. "But it was the only choice I had."

"It wasn't just your choice, princess!"

Clarke glared up at him. She knew he was right. They'd agreed to lead their people together. More than that, they were supposed to be leaders and not just dictators -- better than everyone back at the Ark with their impossibly strict, unforgiving idea of justice. Raven and Monty and Jasper and everyone else was supposed to have a say too.

"We didn't have time to take a vote, Bellamy," she said firmly. Her eyes glinted fiercely in the half light "I did what I had to do to protect us. Think about it -- if we're not useful to the Mountain Men, then we're nothing but a drain on resources. 

"That's what we were on the Ark. I am not going to let anyone treat us that way again."

The worst thing was that she was right.

"You should have talked. Talked to all of us," he told her.

"And put it to a vote?" she asked skeptically.

"I would have trusted you more. They would have,."

"Bellamy," Clarke started, eyes bright as she stepped closer. The light fell away from her and then her face was in shadow, serious and smart "I didn't want you to. If they trust this decision... like it, even, then I don't know how we're going to get them to leave."

The wheels in Bellamy's head turned, processing her words. She wanted all of their people to dislike this decision, even as they went along with it.

Clarke smiled faintly.

"They've got cake here. Shelter and clean clothes and warm beds at night. When we run again, what do we even have to offer?"

"But if you force them to play along here, they'll resent it."

"Even as it keeps us all safe," Bellamy concluded. He shook his head again, blowing out a breath. "You still should have told me, princess. So I wouldn't resent you."

So that he wouldn't have thought the worst of her: the Ark's princess, cozying up to the Mountain's prince. So he wouldn't hate himself for distrusting her, and then hate himself more for trusting her in the first place.

"I thought we had something, Clarke. A partnership or – I don't know..."

For a little while, it'd seemed like more than a partnership. He looked down at her searchingly. Maybe that'd been all him. He'd been fool enough to think he understood Clarke before.

"You're right," Clarke said softly. Bellamy felt a jolt at her words, but before he could ask if he was right about everything, she looked down, voice breaking, "Especially because I was wrong. Bellamy -- we have to get out of here."

He frowned. From everything he'd seen, her plan was working. Hell, it'd worked so well that it had duped him into sticking around instead of searching for Octavia.

"And I don't know how. How are we going to get everyone out of here safe, Bellamy?"

He reached out, taking her by the shoulders, relieved when she accepted the gesture.

"We'll figure it you, the two of us."

Clarke gave a shaky, upset laugh, drawing his gaze.

"We're an asset to the Mountain. More than I ever thought we'd be. Wallace told me... they need healthy blood to stay alive."

A sick feeling came over him; he thought immediately of surveillance of the crashed Ark. It was the reason he'd dragged her in here, thinking they needed to get out to warn the adults of whatever the Mountain Men were up to. Now he had stunning clarity of what it might be. Not an attack, not the way he'd been thinking, but another concerted effort to capture and this time to use the adults.

"And they have to get that blood from somewhere, Bellamy," Clarke continued. "I think we're next."

Bellamy grimaced. He moved his hand up from her shoulder to her neck, brushing his thumb along her jawline. She leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly and breath hitching.

He was right about the two of them, he realized with sudden clarity. Or maybe wrong. Maybe partnership was precisely what this was and that was why it was so important to them, important enough for Clarke to try to fight it and Bellamy to fear losing it.

"Not us," he said roughly. He didn't just mean the two of them. He hadn't told her what he'd learned in the control room yet and she absolutely had to know. It was her family out there, after all. Even if he couldn't protect his family, he could give Clarke this chance to protect hers. "It's not going to be us. Clarke, they're targeting everyone else from the Ark."

Clarke's eyes flew wide, line between her brows as she put together what he was saying.

"They survived." She scanned his face, frowning once more. They were always frowning, the two of them. Bellamy didn't think he'd even seen Clarke smile since that first day -- or maybe Unity Day, before everything truly went to hell. "And the Mountain is watching them."

"We've got to get out of here," Bellamy said. "To warn them."

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and for a moment Bellamy thought it was just to think, until he noticed her shallow breathing and the faint flush to her cheeks. He trailed fingers up her neck, watching is fascination as she swayed under the touch.

"We do, but Bellamy --"

He didn't care what she had to say next. He reached down with one hand to take her by the waist, hauling her in close for a desperate kiss. She choked off a gasp, breaking the kiss, only to wind her hands around his neck before kissing him again, deeper.

"We're going to get out of here," Bellamy said breathlessly.

She nodded against him.

"How?"

Bellamy groaned. He had no idea. He moved from her mouth, raking his teeth along her jaw and kissing the hinge.

"Murphy," she blurted.

Bellamy stopped cold, pulling back to look at her. That was a mood killer, even more than what they were actually talking about.

Clarke was breathing heavily, spark lit in her eyes.

"I bet he's been scouting a way out since he got here," she explained. His eyes flicked down, watching her chest move, and then back up. "We get that bastard to get us out of here."

"And find Octavia," he said been she could think to argue. "And come back."

"With an army," she concluded.

He dipped his head down again, hands on her back.

"I love it when we're on the same page," he said into her kiss.

All he got back was muffled agreement and a hand sliding into his waistband. Which seemed pretty damn good.

***

"How high?" Octavia asked.

Lincoln looked at her askance from the tree he was leaning against. She was perched on a large boulder, kneeling in place as she peered up at the dam that fed power to the Mountain Men. Her hair was pulled back in braids, sword heavy on her back. She ached to draw it and rush it, taking on the men who'd captured all of her people, but she was learning Grounder virtue of patience.

It differed from what she'd learned on the Ark. There'd been no light at the end of the tunnel then. A future of hiding under deck plates and maybe, someday, begging for a life of her own.

Lincoln's patience was different. Grounders didn't wait for the scraps others might hand to them. They waited for the moment to strike, to take for themselves. And while Octavia wanted to get on with the taking, she appreciated the anticipation of sweet things to come -- these days, blood on her hands qualified.

"Too high," Lincoln told her. "We can't scale it. We need a different way in."

Octavia shook her head. That wasn't what she'd been thinking at all.

"A jumper could survive it. It's not too high for that."

Lincoln gave her a bemused look.

"And who is going to jump?"

"My big brother," she asserted. She sat back on the rock and folded her legs under her, jerking her chin up as she looked up at the dam. "You don't know him, Lincoln. He's already on his way out."

Lincoln made a soft sound, a protest, exactly the same as Bellamy always made when he didn't want her to get her hopes up.

Octavia widened her eyes at him, staring him down.

"He's coming. Just you wait."

Then they'd finally be able to get those Mountain Men for everything they'd done to her people and Lincoln's. She smiled grimly to herself, eyes set up on the dam as she watched. It wouldn't be long, not if she knew him and Clarke.


End file.
